Green Coffee
by AmbulanceRobots
Summary: A super old story that I had written, posted to Livejournal years ago, and then summarily forgotten about. Ah, well. Have at it, peeps. I like Smoker, and the working relationship he has with Tashigi makes me grin hard enough to injure my face. I can only assume their early rough patches could file smooth a mountainside. Set pre-series.


There was something to be said for getting up early. Not that it was ever difficult for him, and even less so today; the alarm had been raised at asscrack o'clock in the morning for a band of pirates attempting to take Louguetown's port under the cover of darkness, and after whipping the lot of them across the deck of their own ship, sleep had come only sporadically. Nothing kept him up like adrenaline, and he loved the feeling of it; his body was always reluctant to let it go, even in the dead of night.

Smoker crossed the empty drill yard on his way to the main building. It was quiet and deserted at this time of morning, with the sky still hued a deep blue, with only a tiny strip of green lightening over the ocean. The breeze was light, but the chill morning air caused his skin to prickle just a bit. He absently watched the hazy trail his freshly lit cigars made as he crossed the yard, his ears pricked—out of habit more than anything—to the sounds around him.

He liked mornings the most. Shocking, because there were very few things at all that he liked, but he appreciated the quiet. More than that, he sought the quiet out, and the sensory over load that came with loud noise and tight crowds made him grind his teeth and burn through more cigars than he wanted to replace. But he did, every time. Both the grinding, and subsequent replacing.

Mornings came with another perk, and necessary staple of the day. Coffee, no matter how bad, set the tone for the next sixteen hours of the day. His marines had long ago learned to have a pot of coffee made in the mornings, or _else_. Granted, it often tasted like moldy swill, damned military budgeting, but he always knocked back at least a cup every day, or he felt himself fraying at the edges, sometimes literally.

Today though, as he was up and about hours before anyone else, he would just make it himself. Which was just as well; it meant the coffee would taste less like donkey piss this time.

As he approached the door to the break room in the main building, something prickled against his senses. Call it instinct or whatever, but the same twitchy, hyper alert felling he got when he we no longer alone was crawling slowly across his skin. He dismissed it quickly, and ground his teeth irritably into his cigars. He needed to stop doing that. It was far too early to chew one through and end up with a mouthful of tobacco.

Entering the dark room, he discovered that he wasn't as alone as he hoped. He felt his lip curl around his cigars, and he muffled a growl.

Sitting alone at a chair in the break room was the parasite he had recently been shackled with. Why she had been sitting alone in the dark, he hadn't a clue, and he hadn't a care. He had almost forgotten that she was here, and for the life of him he still wished she wasn't. He hadn't signed up to look after clumsy, still wet-behind-the-ears greenhorns, and this one in particular caused his hackles to rise; so fresh from basic training, she practically marched around the base, trailing the prickly, rigid stench of conformity behind her.

Tashigi looked up sharply, blinking owlishly at the bright lights in the room before squint at him. Oh yes, she was nearly blind. How could he have forgotten? He could hear the well-worn leather of his gloves creak as his fists tightened. She fumbled around herself awkwardly, her hands searching for something, and not finding it. She squinted in his direction the entire time.

"Is there something on my face, or do you stare at everyone?"

At the sound of his voice Tashigi sat bolt upright before flinging herself out of her seat. Literally. He was sure she had been trying to stand up, probably, but she was failing in a painfully spectacular manner. He sighed smoke through his nose in a particularly draconic fashion, his frustration warping it into an almost-growl, and he bit hard into his cigars as she scrambled to her feet. Dammit. He was chewing again.

"Captain Smoker, Sir! M-my apologies. I didn't mean to be rude, Sir." She snapped a sharp, perfect salute. Again. Just like she'd been doing since she'd gotten here. It made Smoker snarl.

"Whatever. And what the hell did I tell you about saluting so damn much? This is why I don't take greens."

"Sorry, Sir." She let her hand drop, but stayed in parade rest, her eyes just to the side of his head.

He grunted, and headed for the counter. His stable morning mood blown all to hell, he desired nothing but to grab his coffee and make for his office. Not for anything that remotely resembled work, but for the solitude it afforded him. Maybe he'd dispose of some paperwork too. Couldn't ever burn too much of that stuff.

As he approached, he noticed that he had been beaten to the punch. The pot was very nearly full, and hot. He could see Tashigi watching him out of the corner of his eye as he reached for a mug, filling it to the point where spilling it was somewhat likely to happen.

As he brought his cup up to his face, he noticed something. This was not his coffee. He had been drinking the Navy standard brew for years, and just one whiff told him this was _not_ it. So help him, if this brat had switched to some strange blend even worse than the usual dog piss, he was going to ship her back to Headquarters. Or kill her. Whichever was more convenient.

One sip confirmed his suspicions. This was far from his normal coffee. And it was _so_ much better. He removed his cigars from his mouth and took another sip. This coffee was far richer than what he was used to, and she had brewed it _black_ ; you could stain streets with this stuff. He let it roll across his tongue briefly, before taking a large gulp, letting it burn its way down his throat. Topping himself back off, he turned to leave, stopping briefly to regard Tashigi.

She tensed under his sudden, intense scrutiny; she was well aware of his dislike for her, he surmised. And he still didn't, and doubted he would ever, but dammit, she made a mean ass pot of coffee. He could get addicted to this stuff.

He stuck his cigars back into his mouth, and with a vague, noncommittal grunt, strode from the break room, making a beeline for the sanctuary of his office. The luxury of enjoying his coffee in peace was not frequently available, and he aimed to wallow in it for as long as he was able, social interactions be damned.

And with that, the scourge of Louguetown retreated to his solitude, with only a cup of his greenhorn's coffee for company.


End file.
